Fic: The Kept Man (28/40), brown cortina, dakfinv
Title: The Kept Man (28/40)
Author: dak
Word Count: 1810 this part; [52,657 overall]
Rating: brown cortina
Warnings: angst, sexual situations, swearing
Spoilers: 1.04, 1.05, 1.07, 2.08
Pairing: Sam/Warren, Sam/Gene
Summary: AU. Sam woke up with amnesia when he landed in 1973, able to only remember his name, and ended up in the grasp of Stephen Warren. When he and Gene Hunt finally cross paths it starts a chain of events that will either save Sam or damn him.
A/N: From an idea from talcat given via culf . Please enjoy!
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40
“The powers that be have seen fit to grant us a warrant to search Warren’s office and home. Ray, Chris, Geoff, you’ll be at the club with me. The rest of you, get to his house pronto. Understood?”
Every head nodded.
“Good. Gladys, a word,” Gene strode into his office, the echo of Sam’s footsteps confirmation that his order was being obeyed.
“I can’t come along. You don’t need to explain it to me. It’s pretty obvious why,” Sam sighed as he leaned against the wall, examining the dirt on the floor.
“Find any connection between the victims?” Gene inquired, grabbing his coat.
“None yet.”
“Keep looking. My gut tells me you’re on to something there.”
“That’s what I was planning on doing. I don’t need your stomach to give me confirmation,” he growled.
“Sam--”
But the office door was already swinging shut. Gene paused and tried to compose himself. He knew it would do no good to start shouting at the tosser, but damn it if his patience wasn’t being sorely tested right now. He flung on the coat and tore out of the room. There would probably be some plod he could bother for the time being.
*
Eric Mason. Jeremy Mackintosh. Trevor Patterson. He couldn’t find anything linking them to Warren, though if Sam was honest with himself he wasn’t trying that hard. He didn’t bother with Yvonne Bettis. One, he already knew her connection to Warren and two, he couldn’t bring himself to think about her any more than he had to. He was fairly certain now he hadn’t been the one that had killed her, but Sam was learning all too quickly that old habits were quite hard to break.
He’d passed most of the last hour puttering round the Collator’s nightmare. Dust coating every file, no sense of order (at least that he could decipher), and faded carbon copies that could no longer be read with the average human eye. He repeated the word “database” over and over in his head for comfort, but it only seemed to annoy him more, especially when he would grab another file whose contents would then suddenly spill over the floor for no particular reason.
Oh, but it was quiet down there. Peaceful, even, as it seemed no other officer ever felt the need to descend into this madness, leaving it all for Sam. He was alone so he wouldn’t have to bother with anyone’s inane questions over his “undercover” work or the shooting...incident, but it was also keeping him occupied enough to keep his mind from thinking of the events himself. Sam was very good at multitasking, but he could have a one-track mind when he wanted to.
He finally deemed it necessary to escape the Collator’s confines and get some fresh air, happening to return to CID just as a PC was delivering the Pathologist’s report on Stephen Warren. With no one else in the unit currently present, Sam accepted the file, staring at the cover, feeling the photographs inside, but lacking the courage to open it.
“Is the body still in the morgue?” He quietly enquired of the young officer.
“Believe so, sir. Don’t think ‘e’s bein’ shipped out til tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” he replied with the same practiced calm.
Sam placed the file on Hunt’s desk, exactly where it was meant to go, then headed back downstairs.
*
“Oh, that ain’t right,” Ray shook his head as, with one finger, he carefully extracted a pair of handcuffs from the bottom right drawer of the late Warren’s desk. He chuckled and waved the offending evidence at Chris. “Can’t imagine what the poofter used these for, eh?” He smirked knowingly.
“Maybe he tortured witnesses with ‘em,” Chris shrugged, causing Ray to roll his eyes.
“I meant, he prob’ly used them for sex,” Ray whispered.
“What do handcuffs have to do with sex?” Chris nervously whispered back.
“You really are a div, aren’t yeh?” Ray stared back in disappointment.
“Find something useful, DS Carling?” Gene grunted, at the moment not in the mood for their typical banter.
“Workin’ on it Guv,” Ray coughed and dropped the cuffs back in the drawer, while Gene continued to study the formerly hidden safe planted in the far corner of the office. He’d been examining it for a good ten minutes since they found it, but short of blowing it open with a stick of dynamite, there didn’t seem to be a way they’d get it open during this search. It was firmly secured into the wall as well, no way of dragging it into the station. Gene highly doubted that Warren kept the combination written down somewhere nice and handy where they would find it.
He wondered briefly if maybe Sam knew what it was. Tyler had certainly been in this office plenty of times. Gene could check with him later, but Gene Hunt wasn’t a “later” sort of man. He wanted this done now.
“Ray!” He shouted.
“Yes Guv?”
“Anyone around here good with locks?”
“I dunno.”
“Then go find out,” he ordered aggressively, before reaching into his coat for a hip flask. If this investigation didn’t kill him, their ineptitude would. Ray was usually quite a good copper, Gene wouldn’t have him on his team if he weren’t, but since his rejection for the promotion, the Sergeant had been particularly hard to deal with.
The introduction of Tyler, and the state of Tyler’s introduction, hadn’t helped his team to become a more unified machine. Instead of a round cog, they’d sent him a square peg and a damaged square peg at that. Gene busied himself with searching elsewhere while they tried to work out to open the safe. The question was, would he have to fix the machine or fix the peg?
*
The morgue. Now, the morgue looked almost exactly as how Sam remembered it in 2006. The same tiled walls, the same stainless steel compartments, and the always present corpse lying under the same green sheet. It was always the same corpse to Sam until the sheet was drawn back and the corpse was given a face, given an identity.
“So you’re the mysterious DI Tyler?”
Sam snapped out of his musings, previously unaware of the coroner’s presence. “Sorry? Yes.”
The doctor was wiping his hands on a cloth. “And this was your handiwork?” He nodded down to the body and Sam could feel himself slowly losing control. He clenched his fists and nodded.
“I’d just like a quick look at the body, if that’s alright.”
“Didn’t you receive my report?”
“We did. I’d still like to see the body for myself.”
He wasn’t looking directly at the coroner but knew the man had raised his eyebrows. “Alright. If you insist.” He set the hand towel down on the nearby tray and pulled back the thin sheet. “Cause of death is what you’d expect--”
“I don’t need a report,” Sam argued.
“Fine. Let me know when you’re finished. Inspector.” The hefty man disappeared from where he had come, leaving Sam alone. Alone with Warren. Not with Warren. Alone with Warren’s body.
He took a tentative step forward. The man’s, the corpse’s, skin was gray, lacking its usual healthy glow. He felt his hands shaking as he took another step closer. His chest had been cut apart, then stitched back together, making the skin rough where it once had been smooth underneath Sam’s fingers. He barely managed to keep from gagging as he finally reached the side of the cold, metal slab, and had to grip the metal to keep himself upright.
Sam’s eyes trailed from the Y-incision on Warren’s chest up to his face. His face was calm. Warren was always calm, unless he was angry. No, even when he was angry he seemed calm. Only when he was furious did he appear discomposed. He would be furious now, furious at Sam for what he had done.
“I’m very upset with you, Samuel,” he’d say.
He could hear it so clearly, spoken in Warren’s distinct brogue. His eyes focused on the simple round indentation on his forehead.
“I gave you everything when you had nothing and this is how you repay me?”
“I’m sorry.”
Warren wouldn’t pace, not like Gene. No, Warren would stand there, ramrod straight, fingers clenching and unclenching.
“I would have forgiven you, Sam, if you didn’t have the photographs. I would’ve found another way to deal with Hunt.”
“I know. I’m sorry, sir.”
Then he would slap him across the face. Sam could almost feel the soothing burn on his cheek.
“Don’t pander to me, boy. I can tell when you’re lying.”
“I know, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
Warren would hit him once more, for good measure. It would sting and Sam would have to let the tears run down his face. Warren liked it when he saw his boy cry.
“There, there, pet.”
“I am, sir. I am sorry.”
Warren would start to tenderly stroke his short hair, calming him and unnerving him at the same time.
“You’ll make it up to me, won’t you, love? You always make it up to me, don’t you?”
“I...I...”
Warren would gently lower Sam to his knees and Sam would wait with anticipation for what was to come. He’d wait. He’d be patient and wait. Wait there. Wait until he was told what to do. He had to be told what to do. Someone needed to tell him what to do because when he did things on his own, they always ended up wrong. His choices always made things worse.
“DI Tyler?” A voice. A real voice. A woman’s voice. “Sir!” A woman was kneeling beside him. He was on the floor. How did he get on the floor? “Are you alright, sir?” She waved a hand in front of his face. He couldn’t say anything. “DCI Hunt sent me to find you.” He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. “Why don’t I go fetch him, alright?” Annie left and he stayed. He waited. He was patient and he waited. He waited right there.
“Shit,” a deep voice sighed. “C’mon, Sam.” Strong arms hooked themselves underneath his shoulders and lifted him up. “Let’s get you out of here.” He wasn’t sure how he was standing. He couldn’t feel himself standing, but he wasn’t falling over and no one was holding him up. “Cartwright, get us some tea an’ meet us in canteen.”
“Yes Guv.”
So many voices, but not the ones he wanted to hear. The ones he wanted were silent. They didn’t want to speak to him anymore. They didn’t want him anymore.
“You in there, Sammy?” A sigh. “Right. C’mon, then. Got some tea an’ pink wafers waitin’ for us upstairs.” He was pushed in a direction so he went in that direction. He didn’t know what else to do.
_______
Part 29
Author: dak
Word Count: 1810 this part; [52,657 overall]
Rating: brown cortina
Warnings: angst, sexual situations, swearing
Spoilers: 1.04, 1.05, 1.07, 2.08
Pairing: Sam/Warren, Sam/Gene
Summary: AU. Sam woke up with amnesia when he landed in 1973, able to only remember his name, and ended up in the grasp of Stephen Warren. When he and Gene Hunt finally cross paths it starts a chain of events that will either save Sam or damn him.
A/N: From an idea from talcat given via culf . Please enjoy!
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40
“The powers that be have seen fit to grant us a warrant to search Warren’s office and home. Ray, Chris, Geoff, you’ll be at the club with me. The rest of you, get to his house pronto. Understood?”
Every head nodded.
“Good. Gladys, a word,” Gene strode into his office, the echo of Sam’s footsteps confirmation that his order was being obeyed.
“I can’t come along. You don’t need to explain it to me. It’s pretty obvious why,” Sam sighed as he leaned against the wall, examining the dirt on the floor.
“Find any connection between the victims?” Gene inquired, grabbing his coat.
“None yet.”
“Keep looking. My gut tells me you’re on to something there.”
“That’s what I was planning on doing. I don’t need your stomach to give me confirmation,” he growled.
“Sam--”
But the office door was already swinging shut. Gene paused and tried to compose himself. He knew it would do no good to start shouting at the tosser, but damn it if his patience wasn’t being sorely tested right now. He flung on the coat and tore out of the room. There would probably be some plod he could bother for the time being.
*
Eric Mason. Jeremy Mackintosh. Trevor Patterson. He couldn’t find anything linking them to Warren, though if Sam was honest with himself he wasn’t trying that hard. He didn’t bother with Yvonne Bettis. One, he already knew her connection to Warren and two, he couldn’t bring himself to think about her any more than he had to. He was fairly certain now he hadn’t been the one that had killed her, but Sam was learning all too quickly that old habits were quite hard to break.
He’d passed most of the last hour puttering round the Collator’s nightmare. Dust coating every file, no sense of order (at least that he could decipher), and faded carbon copies that could no longer be read with the average human eye. He repeated the word “database” over and over in his head for comfort, but it only seemed to annoy him more, especially when he would grab another file whose contents would then suddenly spill over the floor for no particular reason.
Oh, but it was quiet down there. Peaceful, even, as it seemed no other officer ever felt the need to descend into this madness, leaving it all for Sam. He was alone so he wouldn’t have to bother with anyone’s inane questions over his “undercover” work or the shooting...incident, but it was also keeping him occupied enough to keep his mind from thinking of the events himself. Sam was very good at multitasking, but he could have a one-track mind when he wanted to.
He finally deemed it necessary to escape the Collator’s confines and get some fresh air, happening to return to CID just as a PC was delivering the Pathologist’s report on Stephen Warren. With no one else in the unit currently present, Sam accepted the file, staring at the cover, feeling the photographs inside, but lacking the courage to open it.
“Is the body still in the morgue?” He quietly enquired of the young officer.
“Believe so, sir. Don’t think ‘e’s bein’ shipped out til tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” he replied with the same practiced calm.
Sam placed the file on Hunt’s desk, exactly where it was meant to go, then headed back downstairs.
*
“Oh, that ain’t right,” Ray shook his head as, with one finger, he carefully extracted a pair of handcuffs from the bottom right drawer of the late Warren’s desk. He chuckled and waved the offending evidence at Chris. “Can’t imagine what the poofter used these for, eh?” He smirked knowingly.
“Maybe he tortured witnesses with ‘em,” Chris shrugged, causing Ray to roll his eyes.
“I meant, he prob’ly used them for sex,” Ray whispered.
“What do handcuffs have to do with sex?” Chris nervously whispered back.
“You really are a div, aren’t yeh?” Ray stared back in disappointment.
“Find something useful, DS Carling?” Gene grunted, at the moment not in the mood for their typical banter.
“Workin’ on it Guv,” Ray coughed and dropped the cuffs back in the drawer, while Gene continued to study the formerly hidden safe planted in the far corner of the office. He’d been examining it for a good ten minutes since they found it, but short of blowing it open with a stick of dynamite, there didn’t seem to be a way they’d get it open during this search. It was firmly secured into the wall as well, no way of dragging it into the station. Gene highly doubted that Warren kept the combination written down somewhere nice and handy where they would find it.
He wondered briefly if maybe Sam knew what it was. Tyler had certainly been in this office plenty of times. Gene could check with him later, but Gene Hunt wasn’t a “later” sort of man. He wanted this done now.
“Ray!” He shouted.
“Yes Guv?”
“Anyone around here good with locks?”
“I dunno.”
“Then go find out,” he ordered aggressively, before reaching into his coat for a hip flask. If this investigation didn’t kill him, their ineptitude would. Ray was usually quite a good copper, Gene wouldn’t have him on his team if he weren’t, but since his rejection for the promotion, the Sergeant had been particularly hard to deal with.
The introduction of Tyler, and the state of Tyler’s introduction, hadn’t helped his team to become a more unified machine. Instead of a round cog, they’d sent him a square peg and a damaged square peg at that. Gene busied himself with searching elsewhere while they tried to work out to open the safe. The question was, would he have to fix the machine or fix the peg?
*
The morgue. Now, the morgue looked almost exactly as how Sam remembered it in 2006. The same tiled walls, the same stainless steel compartments, and the always present corpse lying under the same green sheet. It was always the same corpse to Sam until the sheet was drawn back and the corpse was given a face, given an identity.
“So you’re the mysterious DI Tyler?”
Sam snapped out of his musings, previously unaware of the coroner’s presence. “Sorry? Yes.”
The doctor was wiping his hands on a cloth. “And this was your handiwork?” He nodded down to the body and Sam could feel himself slowly losing control. He clenched his fists and nodded.
“I’d just like a quick look at the body, if that’s alright.”
“Didn’t you receive my report?”
“We did. I’d still like to see the body for myself.”
He wasn’t looking directly at the coroner but knew the man had raised his eyebrows. “Alright. If you insist.” He set the hand towel down on the nearby tray and pulled back the thin sheet. “Cause of death is what you’d expect--”
“I don’t need a report,” Sam argued.
“Fine. Let me know when you’re finished. Inspector.” The hefty man disappeared from where he had come, leaving Sam alone. Alone with Warren. Not with Warren. Alone with Warren’s body.
He took a tentative step forward. The man’s, the corpse’s, skin was gray, lacking its usual healthy glow. He felt his hands shaking as he took another step closer. His chest had been cut apart, then stitched back together, making the skin rough where it once had been smooth underneath Sam’s fingers. He barely managed to keep from gagging as he finally reached the side of the cold, metal slab, and had to grip the metal to keep himself upright.
Sam’s eyes trailed from the Y-incision on Warren’s chest up to his face. His face was calm. Warren was always calm, unless he was angry. No, even when he was angry he seemed calm. Only when he was furious did he appear discomposed. He would be furious now, furious at Sam for what he had done.
“I’m very upset with you, Samuel,” he’d say.
He could hear it so clearly, spoken in Warren’s distinct brogue. His eyes focused on the simple round indentation on his forehead.
“I gave you everything when you had nothing and this is how you repay me?”
“I’m sorry.”
Warren wouldn’t pace, not like Gene. No, Warren would stand there, ramrod straight, fingers clenching and unclenching.
“I would have forgiven you, Sam, if you didn’t have the photographs. I would’ve found another way to deal with Hunt.”
“I know. I’m sorry, sir.”
Then he would slap him across the face. Sam could almost feel the soothing burn on his cheek.
“Don’t pander to me, boy. I can tell when you’re lying.”
“I know, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
Warren would hit him once more, for good measure. It would sting and Sam would have to let the tears run down his face. Warren liked it when he saw his boy cry.
“There, there, pet.”
“I am, sir. I am sorry.”
Warren would start to tenderly stroke his short hair, calming him and unnerving him at the same time.
“You’ll make it up to me, won’t you, love? You always make it up to me, don’t you?”
“I...I...”
Warren would gently lower Sam to his knees and Sam would wait with anticipation for what was to come. He’d wait. He’d be patient and wait. Wait there. Wait until he was told what to do. He had to be told what to do. Someone needed to tell him what to do because when he did things on his own, they always ended up wrong. His choices always made things worse.
“DI Tyler?” A voice. A real voice. A woman’s voice. “Sir!” A woman was kneeling beside him. He was on the floor. How did he get on the floor? “Are you alright, sir?” She waved a hand in front of his face. He couldn’t say anything. “DCI Hunt sent me to find you.” He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. “Why don’t I go fetch him, alright?” Annie left and he stayed. He waited. He was patient and he waited. He waited right there.
“Shit,” a deep voice sighed. “C’mon, Sam.” Strong arms hooked themselves underneath his shoulders and lifted him up. “Let’s get you out of here.” He wasn’t sure how he was standing. He couldn’t feel himself standing, but he wasn’t falling over and no one was holding him up. “Cartwright, get us some tea an’ meet us in canteen.”
“Yes Guv.”
So many voices, but not the ones he wanted to hear. The ones he wanted were silent. They didn’t want to speak to him anymore. They didn’t want him anymore.
“You in there, Sammy?” A sigh. “Right. C’mon, then. Got some tea an’ pink wafers waitin’ for us upstairs.” He was pushed in a direction so he went in that direction. He didn’t know what else to do.
_______
Part 29